


sometimes it rains.

by alittlesaccharine



Category: Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery (Video Game)
Genre: 80s Hogwarts, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter - Freeform, Hogwarts, M/M, Other, first fic, pop culture references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26753725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlesaccharine/pseuds/alittlesaccharine
Summary: “You alright, mum?”She weakly swished around the coffee in her mug. It was mixed with the good bourbon from the downstairs cupboard, but she didn’t know I knew that. She took a small sip.“You know how people always associate sunny days with perfection and happy things?” I nod in acknowledgement. Mum went on like this more often these days.“Well,” she says, “even if it feels perfect outside, the world is shitty, love. Some- sometimes it rains.” She slams her mug onto the table and storms off, tears glistening in her eyes.I slide down in my chair. Summers at home suck.
Relationships: Barnaby Lee/Penny Haywood, Ben Copper/Original Female Character(s), Charlie Weasley/Liz Tuttle (Platonic), Merula Snyde/Ismelda Murk, Merula Snyde/Tulip Karasu, Orion Amari/Murphy McNully, Orion Amari/Original Female Character(s) (Platonic), Rowan Khanna/Ben Copper, Talbott Winger/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. -1-

**Author's Note:**

> It’d honestly be a miracle if anyone read this lol- I have been burned too many times by promising looking OC fics that turn out to have really bad plots. If you do take the time to read my first chapter of this, then thank you so much, I love you !

-1-

I watched the young woman as she fidgeted on my living room couch. She looked as though she’d rather be anywhere _but_ here. I didn’t know her well, but I knew enough to know that she was the granddaughter of Miss Fletchley, the nice old woman who gave me gardenias whenever I passed by. The most recent bundle was sitting in a glass vase on my kitchen table. 

I had heard others call the woman ‘Maggie.’ A fine name, I supposed. It may have been short for something, but just ‘Maggie’ was a good fit for this unassuming and plain woman. She looked no older than 19, with brown hair and the same wide, straight nose as her grandmother. She looked out of place in the vibrant and mismatched catastrophe we called a living room, even more so because of the cross dangling from her neck. 

The town of Selworthy, in which I live, is _old_ . Old might actually be an understatement, honestly. _Ancient_ is more fitting. I wouldn’t be shocked if I was told these cottages had never been built, they were just here when settlers moved in. The residents of Selworthy were as old and sleepy as their ramshackle homes, too. No children lived here- save for me, of course. The only time I’d see other children in Selworthy was when they’d visit during summer break to visit their grandparents or come to see the Bristol Channel. Maggie was one of those children.

Exactly eight minutes ago, I had let her into my house after repeated polite but frantic knocking. She had nearly knocked me over trying to get inside- clearly, she hadn’t wanted anyone to see her here. 

“So..” she spoke up from her spot on the couch. Her voice was quiet and squeaky, like wind blowing through the cracked glass of a window. “Are you the one who-“ 

“No.” I promptly cut her off without looking up. I notice her wilt at my curtness. I exhale and begrudgingly look at her. “No,” I repeat with a softer voice. “I am not the one who makes the potions- that would be my mother.” 

Maggie jolts at the word ‘potions.’ She had been carefully wording her sentences to avoid saying magic (or, as some of her faith like to refer to it, _satanism_ ). However, she had come here of her own volition, so she was not as godly as she wanted to think she was. 

She clears her throat. “What- I mean, _where_ would your mother be, then, Miss…?” She trailed off, inviting me to introduce myself. I ignore it. “She’s out back, watering her herb garden- it gives her a sense of clarity, I suppose. Would you like me to go get her for you?” She doesn’t say yes, instead opting to vigorously shake her head and slightly clasp her hands together in something resembling a prayer. 

I slide off of my wooden stool and set down **_‘The Daily Prophet’_ ** I had been reading. The house had no air conditioning- no money for it- so summer attire was always the thinnest shirt and shorts I could find in the limited stores we had in Selworthy.

I could still feel sweat blooming across my back and above my brow, even under the cool shade of the Oak tree in my backyard. Across the way was my mother, hunched over a patch of parsley.

“Mum,” I call out, cupping my hands around my mouth, “you’ve got a guest.” She looks over at me. The baby blue ribbon on her sunhat shines in the afternoon sun. She strolls over to me, tossing her gloves onto the lawn.

“Who is it?” She asks, swooping down to kiss my slick forehead. She’s sweaty, too.

“Miss Fletchley’s granddaughter- Maggie, I believe. Ring any bells?” I lean into her side and she wraps a freckled arm around me and hums.

“I think so. But I thought Evelyn’s son was a Christian! Why in the world would his daughter be here?” I shrug. How would I know?

Mum closes her eyes, tilting her face up towards the sun. The light gives her hair the appearance of spun gold. This is what she does when she’s making a decision- always looking to the sky for answers. She had told me once that the sky had never once done her wrong, so she’d keep listening to its gentle guidance until proven otherwise. Mum is a bit of a kook.

“Why don’t you go down to the channel while I deal with Miss Maggie, love. You can pack a sandwich and make a picnic out of it, even. How does that sound?” She asks, petting my hair. My stomach growls against my will. 

“Good.” I mumble. Mum laughs and plops her sun hat onto my head. I’m sure it clashes with the rest of my outfit. 

~

The waves lap at the rocky shores, and Lionel Richie floats by my head as I listen to the AM/FM radio mum keeps in the kitchen. I already ate my sandwich. 

It had been maybe an hour since I had left home with a wicker basket of snacks and books, and after the first thirty minutes, I quickly grew bored of the channel. I never liked it much, in the first place. I’m not a strong swimmer, and I hate being wet. The channel was always the place Jacob enjoyed. I used to go here, but... well.

Mom refused to visit this place, but always urged me to go, as if I would be able to forget the things I associated with it. Jacob lingered in this entire town. He was at the channel, in Miss Fletchley’s flower garden, on the couch that Maggie sat.. 

I sit up and rub my eyes before tears can surface. I had promised myself I’d stop doing this.

I move to turn off the radio when I hear the familiar screech of an owl. I look up to the sky and see a tawny owl soaring over from the Wales side of the channel, a familiar paper in its talons. As it races over my head, the paper drops heavily to the ground a few feet to my left. I scramble up from the ground and almost tear the paper in my haste to read it.   
  


_My Hogwarts letter had come_.


	2. -1.5-

-1.5-

Mum sighed as she read over my required materials for what could have been the sixth time that morning. I walked beside her glancing around at the busy London square. 

“Honestly,” mum complains, “these books just keep getting more and more expensive. What’s even the point if you’re only going to use them for one year?” I say nothing. It may be annoying to listen to her complain, but the complaining keeps mum from thinking about the last time she was in Diagon Alley buying books- 1974, Jacob’s first year at Hogwarts.

She gently pushes open the door to a nondescript pub teeming with witches and wizards. The barkeep faintly acknowledges us as he wipes a glass.

“So mum, when did you want to meet back here?” I ask as she taps certain bricks with her wand. In a display that was both mesmerizing and familiar, the bricks folded in on themselves as though they were as flimsy and malleable as a piece of paper. 

“I’d prefer you meet me around.. let’s say eleven.” She reaches into her purse and hands me a sack of coins and my supply list. I pocket the sack and glance around the crowded lane and all it’s peculiar shops. “Ok,” I say.

After a tight hug, I found myself alone to look for my things. 

I unravel the letter and carefully read over it. At the top of the list were books, followed by cauldrons, robes, and a wand. I wipe sweat off of my forehead, pushing my fringe aside. If I wanted to be done before eleven, I’d need to hurry to Flourish and Blotts.

~

“Have a good one, Miss.” 

The wizard at the counter says as he accepts my silver sickles, hastily waving me off into the sea of other incoming Hogwarts students. I can barely move through the shop, as many other non-students piled into the chilly store for salvation from the insane heat of August.

When I looked away for just a moment- a toddler had knocked over a tall pile of books-, I collided with someone, sending all my books spilling to the ground. I groan. 

“Clumsy- that was my bad.” The other person says. It’s a dark skinned girl with horn rimmed glasses and a large mouth. Her eyes are so black I think I could see my reflection in them- or maybe it was just her glasses. She sounded posh, with every one of her words carefully clipped and measured.

“No, it’s my fault, too. Although moving in here’s about as easy as catching a snitch blindfolded.” I joke, placing ‘ _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’_ onto the girl’s pile of books. She gives me a tight but warm smile as she heaves the pile off the ground. 

“I take it you’re an incoming Hogwarts student, too, right?”I tell her yes and awkwardly follow her out of the shop and into the sweltering street.

“Well,” she says over her shoulder, “I’m Rowan Khanna. I am going to be Head Girl _and_ the youngest professor at Hogwarts.” 

I nod, impressed. “I take it you’re the studious type, then, with such a goal?” Rowan nervously glances at her feet, the tips of her ears blushing. “I suppose I’ve always gotten along better with books than people- it's part of the territory growing up on a tree farm in the middle of nowhere.” 

“Wow,” I hurry to walk next to Rowan rather than behind, “you live on a tree farm? That’s brilliant, Rowan. Are you friends with many Bowtruckles?” Rowan seems to gain some confidence with my question, as she lifts her chin a bit higher. 

“Not really, but they trust me enough to feed them. Oh, now that I’m thinking of it, if I want to make a good impression, I should look the part of a young savant. Which of these do you think’d look better on me?” She stops in front of another store and points to some items inside.

On floating mannequins behind the glass window were two garishly made items- a scarf and a sweater. The sweater was long and sickly yellow, which made even the bright orange scarf next to it look normal. I frown.

“The scarf, I guess. Though you’d still look like an anthropomorphized Chudley Cannon badge.” I watch my face sneer in the reflection of the glass. Rowan rolls her eyes. 

“ _I_ like it, at the very least. By the way, I never caught your name.” I hesitate and debate if I should or not. However, hesitating means more time spent in the sun, so I give up. 

“I’m Rachel.” Rowan looks over her shoulder at me pointedly. “Just Rachel?” 

“Well, I’d give you my surname but then you’d be freaked out. It happens every time I set foot into the wizarding world.” I take a few steps back from Rowan to stand in the minimal shade produced by the hanging sign of the shop we stood in front of. Rowan gives me an incredulous look.

“Would you happen to be Harry Potter with bangs and a Weird Sisters t-shirt?” I snort.

“No, unfortunately. I’ll let you know if I suddenly become him, though. Say, Rowan, would you happen to have the time?” I motion towards her sleek wristwatch. Rowan struggles to look over her armfuls of supplies at the watch face.

“I believe it’s ten o’clock. Why?” I grimace, thinking of the long list of items I had yet to even think of getting.

  
“I need to go get the rest of my supplies- it was nice talking to you, though.” Rowan nods sagely, gently bumping her shoulder against mine.

“Of course, Rachel. Say, would you like to sit together on the Hogwarts Express?” 

“If you’d have me, that’d be lovely.” 

~

Ollivanders is surprisingly empty when I step inside. I set my large pile of cauldrons, robes and books on a bench near the entrance and meander towards the vacant counter.

“Hello?” I call. No answer. “Excuse me? Am I talking to anyone right now or am I going prematurely senile?” 

Somewhere in between the endless shelves of wands there is a crash. I wince out of reflex. 

“Just a moment and I’ll be with you!” A voice shouts out. A few moments later, a tall and gaunt white haired man emerges with a box in his arms.

“Garrick Ollivander at your service. Sorry about that, dear. Just sorting through some wand options for you- I knew you’d be coming in today.” He gives me a small smile and carefully opens the box. I shiver uncomfortably.

“That’s.. kind of creepy, actually.” Ollivander barks out a laugh and walks in front of the counter, wand in hand.

“No matter. Here, try this. Twelve inches, laurel wood and a Phoenix Feather core.” He gently places the wand in my right palm. It’s a warm, light brown wand, and it has ridges at the bottom, carefully crafted to fit someone’s hand. Overall, a handsome wand. However...

“I’m sorry, I don’t think this is right.” The old man grins, rather than frowning like I thought he would.

“Oh really? Do tell why not.” I am silent for a moment while I think of why this wand is wrong. 

“Well…” I begin, “ it doesn’t fit right in my hand. It feels too thick.” I hand the wand back and clench my wand hand into a fist. Ollivander places the wand back into its box, ever so carefully. He cares deeply about these wands- only natural for a wand salesman, probably.

“Quite the observant one, aren’t you? A great deal more than your brother, I suppose.” He pointed to a small vial of ink on one side of the counter amusedly. “When he came in here, he picked up the first wand he saw and exploded my ink pot.” My eyebrows shot up.

“You know my brother?” Only after the question leaves my mouth do I realize how bloody stupid I sound.

“Excuse my saying so, but it’d be quite difficult not to, what with Jacob Goode’s face plastered across **_‘The Daily Prophet’_ ** with the caption ‘Hogwarts Student Expelled and Missing.’ Your brother’s name was whispered throughout Diagon Alley for weeks.” Ollivander shakes his head near the end of his statement, as though to show his disapproval. For some reason, my blood boils at this thought.

“Is that so.” My tone is short, and it’s obvious that I wasn’t happy.

“Oh my, it seems I’ve upset you. My apologies, Miss Goode.” Ollivander glances down at me, looking genuinely remorseful. It makes me even more agitated.

“No need, sir. I’m used to it.” He frowns for the first time since I entered the shop.

“You shouldn’t have to be. Just one more question for you; and I’ve been curious about this for a while. When you saw that paper, how did you feel?” He asked the question casually, as though he was asking about the weather rather than one of the most traumatic moments of my life. I spit back almost immediately.

“I wouldn’t know. It’s been a long time since then, far too long ago for me to remember.” I cross my arms and rake my eyes over the cluttered shelves of wands to distract myself. 

“Hmm.. you say that, yet I can almost see the rage inside of you.” I make eye contact with Ollivander, startled by his sudden seriousness. “I think I’d compare you to a geyser- dormant for a long while, but once something hits a nerve deep down, you’d explode.”

I resist the urge to laugh.

“I’m a person, Mister Ollivander. Not a geyser.” He cracks another smile, and hastily reaches under the counter, pulling up another wand box.

“Of course, of course. Here, try this one now. Pear wood, Phoenix feather core, eleven inches and a hard flexibility.” He unboxed the wand, and it is similar looking to the first one. A warm, light brown, slightly thinner, and with intricate paisley-like patterns engraved into its handle. It is similar looking, yet so much more. I give it a slight flick.

A golden ray of light explodes in the air, akin to the fireworks I’d see on Miss Fletchley’s television. The firework’s ‘embers’ never hit the ground, rather, they morph into small golden butterflies that flutter past my freckled cheek. I decisively nod.

“This,” I tell an eager Ollivander, “is my wand.” He hums in agreement. 

“It is your wand, and you are it’s witch. Congratulations, Miss Goode.” 

~

“That sounds like quite the reaction!” Mum babbles, carrying some of my things. 

“It certainly was. I always thought the wand finding process was long, but I found mine in two tries.” I glance at my wand box I had bought only a short while ago. Mum squeezes my shoulder with her free hand. 

“Well, you’re an extraordinary young woman, Rachel. Don’t forget that.” 


	3. -2-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who is still reading this, thanks so much! I’m almost at 70 views on this book- more than anything I’ve ever gotten before on a story. I’ll try to post chapter as often as I can until I catch up to where I’m at in the game.

-2-

Mum’s distinctively tall figure is long gone by the time I stop looking out the window of the Hogwarts Express. Rowan has her nose stuck in a large book. 

“Hogwarts: A History.” I read aloud. Rowan looks up and gives an easy smile. “Yes,” she closes the book and holds it up for me to see, “have you read it? I got it for my birthday this year.” 

No, I tell her, I haven’t. She slides over to my seat and reopens the book to the preface. 

“We can read it together, then! We’ve got the time- I don’t reckon we’ll be actually  _ at _ Hogwarts until sunset. I think you’ll love the chapter about the ceiling in the Great Hall, it’s actually enchanted…” I listen to Rowan drone on. She has a sparkle in her eyes. Something about her is so familiar to me, and it makes her so easy to talk to. 

It’s her passion, I think. Reminds me a bit of mum. Where Rowan goes on about moving staircases and poltergeist, however, mum talks about her babbling beetroot and mandrake leaves. I don’t know if I’ve ever had a passion for anything. It almost makes me jealous.

~

Rowan was right- I  _ did  _ love the chapter on the Great Hall’s ceiling. But even the moving picture inside the book didn’t do the current enchanted ceiling justice.

The air here was so clear that every star was visible in the night sky, every single constellation, and even Venus if you looked closely enough.  _ Maybe _ , I thought,  _ I could grab those stars if I reached high enough _ . 

“Brilliant, right?” Rowan whispers next to me as we march down the center aisle with other first years. I wordlessly agree, bewildered beyond belief. 

I’m staring so intensely at the stars that I nearly knock nose first into the person in front of me when we stop walking. A seated older boy snickers beside me. I embarrassedly look away.

I stand on my tip-toes, doing my best to see over everyone’s head to watch Professor McGonagall, a waspish and severe looking older woman, speak. McGonagall’s name was written in clean, elegant cursive at the bottom of my letter, I remember. She looked so well put together and composed in person- I think I’d want to be like her when I get older.

She introduces herself as a Transfiguration teacher, headmistress, and head of Gryffindor house. An accomplished woman, I think. Rowan is enraptured by McGonagall, hanging off her every accented word as though they held the secrets of the universe. 

“The Houses,” she projects, “are Gryffindor, the brave and the bold.” The table on my right hollers wildly. 

“Hufflepuff, the kind and the loyal.” The table to Gryffindor’s right claps politely. 

“Ravenclaw, the clever and the wise.” The table beside Rowan woops. 

“And finally,” she motions to the very last table,” Slytherin, the resourceful and ambitious.” The Slytherin students are divided between hooting and hollering and clapping boredly. 

“I hear that Slytherin produces the most dark wizards out of any of the houses.” Rowan whispers in my ear. I frown.

“That doesn’t mean anything, Rowan.” I snap. Rowan flinches, and I instantly feel bad.

Jacob’s house was Slytherin. 

I clear my throat. “Anyways. It isn’t good to define a whole group by a few bad eggs. I’m sure there are some very kind Slytherins… somewhere.” I drift off as I spot a group of Slytherin girls giggle at a boy who spilled gravy down his front. 

~

After many names are called, Rowan and I are almost at the very front of the line of first years. The sorted students sit together at their tables, excitedly chatting away. Hufflepuff was the most common house to be sorted into, it seemed.

“Khanna, Rowan.” McGonagall beckons, taking the (freakishly sentient) sorting hat off of a redheaded Gryffindor boy. Rowan anxiously squeezes my hand before treading up the steps.

Now that I am closer to the front, I can see the staff members better. 

A ginormous man introduced to us earlier as Hagrid sits next to another remarkably short man with a distinguished mustache. On the other side of the table was a sallow man, dressed in all black with hair so slick it may as well have been pure oil. In the very middle was Albus Dumbledore, the man whose card I had pulled out of my chocolate frog on the Express. His long white hair and beard almost glow under the floating candlelight, and his half-moon spectacles do nothing to hide his shocking blue eyes. 

The Hogwarts staff, I conclude, is a strange bunch. 

Rowan sits onto the stool, popping her fingers with barely audible cracks. She does this when she is particularly nervous or excited- which I learned on the train. McGonagall places the ratty old hat onto her head and steps away as though to give them privacy. 

Rowan’s mouth moves, although I cannot understand what she is saying. 

“SLYTHERIN!” Belts the hat after a few moments of awkward silence. 

The Slytherin students cheer, and Rowan dazedly stands from the stool to hand over the hat. I smile at her, and she waves back. 

~

“Goode, Rachel.” McGonagall summons me to the stage. The noise in the hall dies down quite a bit, and I feel many eyes on me. 

_ I’m used to this _ , I tell myself.  _ I’m used to this, so it’s ok. _

I don’t look back when I walk up to the stool. I don’t look at anyone when I sit down. I don’t look when the hat is placed on my head, either. 

**_‘You seem familiar. Would you happen to have a sibling?’_ ** A raspy voice rings in my head. I jolt in surprise. 

“You’d think you’d at least give me notice before you start speaking in my head.” I cross my arms. It- the hat, that is- doesn’t need to know how scared I was.

**_‘Not answering the question, I see. No matter. I know who you are. Your brother was-‘_ **

“I am not Jacob.” I firmly tell the hat. “I am Rachel.” 

**_‘..Fascinating. You’re quite the difficult one to figure out. You’re rather protective to the few you trust, and you’ve got immense potential for heroics. But you don’t want fame or loyalty, do you? It is not even knowledge that you wish for.’_ **

“And what would that happen to mean? I do not _wish_ for anything, foolish hat. I _make_ things happen. Wishing for things never got anyone anywhere. Of all people, I would know.” Even I am surprised at my words. My thoughts and my words are mixing together. I don’t like this process. 

**_‘It’s very clear to me where you belong. But let me ask once more, to be sure- do you truly not long for glory? Deep down inside, do you really not desire to be praised?’_ **

“...of course I do.” I whisper. “All the time. But that is not the path I am destined for. It’s a fantasy.” 

The hats hums.  **_‘Very well, then.’_ **

“SLYTHERIN!” 

~

The dungeons is where the Slytherin common room is. When we step inside, a chill instantly runs through me. Rowan had mentioned the dungeons were under the black lake, so that would make sense. It would also explain the green light that filtered in through the stained glass windows.

Tapestries lined the walls of various men and women whom I assumed had been famous Slytherins. A few I knew- Merlin, of course, as well as members of the Black family-, but most I didn’t. 

A grandiose stone fireplace engraved with snakes sat on one wall, and was surrounded by low backed green and black leather couches. On the wall opposite the fireplace were two arched doorways which numerous Slytherin students drifted in and out of. I presumed those were the way to the dorms

Farther back, over by some tables and chairs is a dark wooden board filled to the brim with neatly pinned sheets of parchment paper, including one with bold print reading ‘ **_House Password: Bezoar. A reminder- bring outsiders here and face_ _consequences_.** _ ’ _

I don’t know what consequences those would be, but if the skull next to it was any indication, I did  _ not _ want to know.

The Slytherin common room is already partially full when Professor Snape- the gloomy man who doubled as our Head of House and the Potions professor- led us first years inside. 

“Girls dormitory is on the right. Boys are to the left. You are not to go to the wrong one, lest the floor decides to send you flying onto one of the fire pokers.” Snape unenthusiastically tells us. “And one more thing: do not leave after curfew. If students are found out of bed, well…” his lips curl into a sneer. “Filch’s shackles have been sorely underused in past years.” 

Without another word, he leaves the common room. Rowan shakes her head. 

“He’s every bit as pleasant as he looks.” I chuckle. 

“I think if a person ran purely on pixie dust and hatred, Snape is what they’d look like.” Rowan raises her eyebrows and brings her hand to her mouth to silence her laughter.

“I cannot believe that someone like  _ you _ was sorted into Slytherin.” A boy lazily drawls from his spot on a couch, aimlessly flicking his wand around. I snap my head towards him.

“Is that so? Please,” I lean against the back of the couch. “Elaborate.” He narrows his dark eyes, standing up to tower over me. I refuse to look anywhere but his eyes. He must be in third or fourth year, yet here he was picking on a first year girl- mum would call him a right laker if she was here. 

“ _ Your _ brother,” he jabs a finger at my chest to emphasize, “went and got himself  _ killed _ and ruined Slytherin’s good reputation. And here  _ you _ come to make even more trouble for this house.” 

The words sting.  _ Killed _ echoes through my mind. Jacob wasn’t dead. Missing. He was missing. At least, that’s what the Minister of Magic had told mum after she marched into his office and slammed the  **_‘Prophet’_ ** onto his desk, her mascara running down her cheeks. 

“Jacob Goode wasn’t the first to ‘ruin’ Slytherin’s name. Nor will he be the last, I’m guessing, if you actually end up graduating with  _ your _ intelligence. I’d bet my 3 year old cousin could articulate an insult better than you.” Rowan pipes up from behind me, glaring. The boy goes red in the face. 

“You birds are just a pair of mud-“ he is cut off by a firm hand gripping his shoulder.

“With such a hideous temperament, I’m shocked you weren’t placed into Gryffindor, Irwin.” A pale, thin boy with pronounced cheekbones hissed. A green ‘Prefect’ badge lay prominently displayed on his clothes. Irwin (?) swatted the other boy’s hand. 

“Sod off, Rosier. This doesn’t involve you.” Rosier’s eyes glinted dangerously, and his hand drifted to the waist of his robes.

“I can  _ make sure _ it involves me if you keep it up, you prat. Get out of my sight.” Irwin flinches, eyes following Rosier’s hand that now gripped his wand. Irwin was a tall boy, easily six feet, and extremely rude. But he was not stupid. He scurried away to his room, leaving an exasperated prefect and a pair of bewildered first year girls in his wake. 

“As for  _ you two _ ,” Rosier spat, sharply turning his head, “I already have to deal with enough gits as a prefect. Don’t be additions.” He spun on his heel and briskly left the room.


	4. -3-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a longer chapter- I wanted to make sure it was perfect before I posted it. Also, this story has surpassed 100 views. People have even commented on it!! I am deceased and humbled :)

-3-

When I woke up, there was no fire.

The previous night, Rowan and I had entered our dorm (which was cold beyond any reasonable temperature) to find our other roommates were not there, and that no fire had been lit in the charcoal furnace in the middle of the room. 

With chattering teeth and red fingertips we had created a few sparks, and until the room was fully heated, we huddled under the blankets on our beds. Rowan had remarked that the other girls had probably left since the room was so chilly.

“Perks of living under a lake,” I had told her before sneezing.

After another hour had rolled by, two girls entered the room about five minutes apart. 

The first was a tall girl with strangely muscular calves and skin as dark as the walnut wood of the bed frame. She had kindly introduced herself as Nancy before putting on a blue satin bonnet, changing into her nightgown, and immediately drifting off to sleep. 

The second girl was perhaps the most fashionable I’d ever seen. She looked the spitting image of Twiggy, with thick lower eyelashes and a short blonde bob pinned back with a pearled barrette. She had a look of subtle contempt on her face as she fiddled with her red, dangling earrings. 

“Willow Sotheby,” she had curtly said, opening her trunk with a delicate foot. “Honestly, if I’d known I’d be sorted into Slytherin I would’ve brought more green.” 

Not long after she had thrown her earrings to the bottom of her trunk had Willow, too, changed into her nightgown. 

Except instead of the boring tartan patterned gowns we (‘we’ being Rowan, Nancy and I) had, Willow’s gown was a pale green with white lace details- something so elegant that I could picture Julie Andrews herself prancing around in it.

Rowan and I shared a glance before staring at the gown once again. Willow raised one of her thin eyebrows at us with an unamused expression before sliding beneath her covers. 

I assumed I was the last one awake when I could hear the other girls’ soft, rhythmic breathing mix with the crackle of the fireplace. I’d always had trouble sleeping in strange new places, and Hogwarts was no exception. 

I curled into a ball and closed my eyes, trying to imagine my room at home, with its stacks of newspapers and the strawberry printed comforter.

_ ‘This is good,’  _ I thought to myself,  _ ‘here you are safe and here is where your life will truly begin. You will be okay. ’ _ Although I don’t know if I really believed it, I still fell asleep thinking nice things. 

So when I woke up, I wasn’t surprised that the heat had disappeared. The fire must’ve gone out during the night with no one to attend to it. As I slipped out of bed, I vaguely wondered if there was a spell for that. 

I wrapped a shawl around my nightgown and entered the empty and silent common room. The early morning sunrise’s light filtered through the water of the black lake into the room, transforming it from a gloomy and gothic place to one much more welcoming. 

The fire in the fireplace still burned strong, and I could even feel its warmth lick at my socked feet from my spot on a couch. 

This tranquil morning would be one of my best memories at Hogwarts.

~

Rowan had hastily ushered me to class after a quick breakfast of poached eggs and sausage, insisting that she  _ had _ to be one of the first students to arrive to Charms. 

_ ‘Goals are furthered through good impressions!’ _ She declared, sprinting up a staircase before it could switch to a different destination. Just watching the stairs loop and twirl without direction gave me a headache. 

Now, as we hesitantly enter the classroom at least five minutes ahead of everyone, Rowan is not as energetic, rather she huffs and puffs from exertion.

The short man with the mustache I had seen last night stood atop a stack of books, as though he was waiting for us. 

“Hello- sorry, out of breath- hello, sir.” Rowan wheezed, weakly waving her hand. The man, or Professor Flitwick, as Rowan had told me, smiled. 

“Good morning. I’m glad to see you were so eager to get here on time, Miss Khanna.” Rowan’s eyes bulged. “You already know who I am?” 

Flitwick nodded. “I make a point of learning who my students are, you’ll find. And don’t think I forgot about you, Miss Goode. I know a few of my colleagues were anxiously awaiting the day we’d get to see you sorted. Slytherin is a fine house- your brother liked it, too.” 

I impassively smiled. Would I have to hear  _ all _ of my professors talk about Jacob today? I sincerely hoped not. 

“He was perhaps the best student I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching-the most troublesome one, too. He was an absolute genius with a rather odd manner about him, and he always insisted that his magic was better suited towards making suits of armor dance rather than actual work.” Flitwick continued, his smile a bit more sorrowful this time. 

“Was he? I never knew Jacob was good at Charms. I always figured he was more of a Transfiguration type.” I said, putting my textbooks on a bench next to Rowan’s. She awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck. 

Flitwick cleared his throat. “He truly was, Miss Goode. If you would humor me, I’d just like to know; Are  _ you _ going to follow the rules?” I froze. Surely didn’t expect to get asked  _ that _ today. 

More students filtered in through the door, slowly raising the volume level as they did. I shrugged in response to Flitwick’s question.

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way professor, but I haven’t decided yet. I’m not my brother, mind you, so I doubt I’ll be making any suits of armor do the Twist- but don’t expect too much from me.” 

Flitwick hums. “A fair answer. Now please take a seat. Class is starting.”

~

“Rachel, do you see my quill down there?” Nancy asks after tapping my shoulder. Class had ended, and most students were on their way to their next class.

“No. Did you drop it or something?” I asked, glancing at the ground by my feet. Nancy groaned and leaned over her desk to double check the ground. 

“It was the only one I brought- someone must’ve knocked it off by accident. All my other ones are in the room!” She complained. I motioned for Rowan to leave, then crouched down.

“I’ll help you look,” I told her, “but we need to be quick about it or we’ll be late to Potions.” 

We searched almost every inch of the ground in our section of the classroom, and still couldn’t find Nancy’s quill. I stood up and picked my satchel up off the ground. 

“You know what, Nancy? Why don’t I let you borrow one of-“ 

“Oh, bollocks! I’m so sorry, Rachel! It was in my robe pocket!” I mutely glare at the sheepish Nancy. Quite the airhead, I guess. 

~

The brisk air in the dungeons sliced through me just as much as the day before when I had first entered. Hopefully, seeing as I was going to live down here six months a year, I’d soon get used to it. 

When Snape had whisked us to our common room, we had passed by the open doorway to the Potions classroom. It was just a quick flash, but the gloom in there, I believed, matched Snape’s aura  _ perfectly _ .

“Say it!” Someone shouted. 

It was then that I noticed the people standing in front of the doors to the Potions room. Most of the other stragglers gave the pair a once over before entering, and I was going to do the same- until I noticed one of the two was Rowan. 

Her body language screamed uncomfortable, even if her face was calm. The other girl screaming in her face was short- shorter than me- with wild brown hair and eye-catching purple eyes. I would’ve thought her pretty had she not been throwing a tantrum at my friend. 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t say that you’re the most powerful witch at Hogwarts.” Rowan sighed, pushing up her glasses. Her hands shook. 

“And why not?” 

Rowan took a deep breath. 

“Just off of the top of my head, you are less powerful than Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, Madam Hooch, the seventh year girls.. everyone, honestly. We’re both just first years!” The words spilled from Rowan’s mouth in the same way that syrup would squirt from its container- slowly at first, then speeding up to an extreme pace. 

The other girl’s cheeks bloomed with red. “I,” she proclaimed, stabbing a finger into Rowan’s chest, “am  _ nothing like you!”  _

“You’re right,” I tell her, placing a hand on Rowan’s shoulder, “Rowan doesn’t need to go around yelling at people for self-validation. Does hearing someone say that you’re good really mean that much to you?” 

The girl gawked at me, eyes brimming with resentment. 

“And  _ who _ do you think you are exactly?” She asked after a moment. 

“You know, Rachel should be the one claiming to be the best witch- Professor Flitwick said that she casted on of the best Lumos charms of any first year he had seen!” Rowan interjects. I shoot a frown her way. That’s not what Flitwick had said at all. 

He had come by my desk after I had casted the charm, given me a nod and said that my brother had also casted Lumos quickly, and (again) said he was an amazing student. Whatever Rowan had thought that interaction was was not what happened. 

“Rachel.. oh, I know who you are now.” The smile on the girl’s face was unsettling, to say the least. She looked as though she knew something I didn’t.

“You’re Rachel Goode- the one whose brother lost his bloody mind, disgraced his house, got expelled and was never heard from again. But no, please continue to tell me that you could make a wonderful light at the end of your wand.” She crossed her arms. 

I expected to feel angry from the blatant insult to my family.. but I didn’t. This girl looked rough around the edges, and seemed to have pitiable self-esteem. Whatever she said most likely came from a place of internalized anger and sadness she hadn’t been able to express. 

Mum had told me about people like that- said Jacob’s dad was like that. People like him had either seen too much or been burned too many times. And sometimes they just wanted to see other people suffer the same way they did every day. 

_ ‘You really can’t be too upset with those types, love. If they say anything awful to you,’ she gently trailed her fingers in a line down my arm, ‘it’s just water off your back.’  _

“So then,” I said, folding my hands together, “who’d you be?” 

Her face was easy to read- and right now it was surprised. And angry, but that goes without saying. She seemed to catch on to my demeanor, straightening her posture and jutting her nose in the air. 

“Merula Snyde, first year Slytherin, and best witch at Hogwarts. You know, I overheard some of the professors whispering about you at the feast. You must think you’re better than me, don’t you? With that posh look of yours.” Merula tried to stare down her nose at me- which is quite hard if the person you’re staring at is taller than you. 

“I don’t want any trouble.” 

“Honestly, you don’t have a choice.” 

After casting a glance at an anxious-looking Rowan, I turned back to Merula. 

“Merula, I already said I don’t want trouble. But,” I say, my eyebrows drawing together into a frown, “I won’t stay silent if you keep threatening Rowan and me.” 

Rowan’s hand gripped my shoulder. Tightly. 

“Goode.” Snape sneered, suddenly between Merula and I.

“I knew that you’d be trouble. Now get to class- and be glad it’s not detention.”

Merula scurried away, akin to a kicked puppy. I tapped Rowan’s hand, and she quickly let go. 

“Sorry.” She pushed her glasses up her face, “But thank you- really. I’ve never been good at standing up for myself.” I began to walk to the classroom door. 

“Well, you’ll need to get good at it, Rowan. No one likes a pushover. And another thing- did you hear what she said?” 

“Yes! It was just awful what she said about J-“ 

“No, Rowan. I was referring to the professors whispering about me. What do you think they were talking about?” Rowan paused to think. 

“I’m not sure. But we can figure it out later- we’ve got class.” 


	5. -4-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry this one took a while- I’ve been super busy with school. Thank you for being patient! And if you’re still reading this then I love you!

-4-

Unfortunately, I was right. (That is a sentence I never thought I’d say.)

Every single Professor had mentioned Jacob.

Every last one. 

The only reason I hadn’t thrown myself from the Great Hall windows was because Rowan told me I’d most likely come back as a ghost to haunt the school. 

And as much as I hate the consistent Jacob-ing (a cute little nickname I gave to relieve the incessant horror that was listening to the professors ramble on), nothing was as disastrous as potions. 

“That bad, huh?” Willow said after I pushed away the pumpkin juice she offered. 

“Well, for one, I’m allergic to pumpkin. But yes, it was  _ that bad. _ ” 

Nancy gasped in horror. “ _ Allergic? _ Mate, you’ve no idea what you’re missing out on!” Rowan buried her face in her hands. 

“Nancy,” she groans, “you say that like she’s choosing not to eat them.” 

“Oh, will you all shut it?” Willow huffs, picking at her mashed potatoes. “Tell me about the potions fiasco, Rachel.” 

/

_ ‘Rachel,’ Rowan asked, looking up from her recipe book.  _

_ Cure for Boils was the name of our first potion. Rowan had immediately taken to being in charge of our potion, leaving me to do the heavy lifting- not that I really minded. It kept me busy enough to forget that Merula was glaring at me from across the table.  _

_ ‘Yes, Rowan?’ I responded as I picked at my cuticles. We had finished the brew, and it was quite handsomely done, if you asked me.  _

_ ‘Did you- did you add Bulbadoux to the mix?’  _

_ ‘No, why?’  _

_ ‘Because that looks like the beginnings of a Bulbadoux explosion.’ She pointed a shaky finger at the cauldron. I slowly leaned over it to see a murky green bleeding into the color of our Cure of Boils, slowly bubbling as it went.  _

_ ‘Uh oh.’  _

_ Needless to say, I will need a new cauldron.  _

_ ‘Great job, Goode. You’ve cured the table of Boils.’ Merula snarks, stirring her potion.  _

_ Snape hurries over to the table, jaw set in irritation.  _

_ ‘You should have never been allowed in my classroom, Goode. Somehow- and I don’t know how- you are worse than your brother.’ He spits, angrily gesturing to the exploded cauldron.  _

_ ‘First time I’ve heard that one.’ I mutter under my breath. _

_ And then, the worst words a first year could hear from a professor:  _

_ ‘Ten points from Slytherin. _

_ Do you have anything to say for yourself?’  _

_ I stare at Snape in what I assume is shock. Then at Merula, who smirks as she proofreads her ingredients list. I don’t want to assume, but that look screams ‘I am definitely sneaky and will get away with this.’  _

_ Which she will, I suppose. _

_ ‘Nope,’ I tell Snape, ‘other than I am now scared to go back to the common room.’  _

_ \ _

Nancy sucks in air between her teeth. 

“That rots, mate. That Merula girl sounds like a right git.” Willow shallowly nods in agreement, staring off into the distance. 

“I’d hate to see what that prefect fellow does to Rachel now that she’s lost us house points.” Willow airily says. Nancy pokes her shoulder. 

“Oi, space cadet, have you passed Mars yet?” Willow seems to jolt back into existence, nearly smudging some of her black mascara in an attempt to regain face. Willow, I had noticed, was often so focused in class that she tired herself out in everything else. 

“Sorry. Thinking of Transfiguration spells.” 

“Hey, which of you’s Goode?” A boy asks. He is older, with dark brown hair and an unremarkable face. Nancy blankly stares at him. 

“McDougan, which of us do you  _ think _ is Goode? Let’s see, here- is it the black girl? Or perhaps the blonde? Oh, no, it must be four eyes over there.” She rolls her eyes and shoves a serving of salad into her mouth. 

Nancy seemed to have a hard time being nice to boys. 

McDougan huffs. “God, Pallow, I’m just asking. No matter. Whichever one you is Rachel, Felix wants to see you in the common room as soon as possible. Good luck.” He stalks off.

“...damn it.” I say, taking one last bit of my salmon before heading downstairs. 

-

Many things have already happened at Hogwarts that I didn’t expect to, however this was by far the most surprising.

Next to the Slytherin common room door stood a boy in Gryffindor robes with neatly parted blonde hair and darting brown eyes. 

When I approached him, he jolted and took several large steps in the other direction.

“Oh,” he says when he looks at me, “it’s just you.” 

I cross my arms. “Just me, huh?” I only meant to tease him, but the boy looked as though I threatened to kill him. 

“I’m sorry- so sorry. Oh, this is  _ not  _ how this was supposed to go. I-“ he rambles, wringing his hands. Quite the anxious one, this boy. 

“Oh spit it out, would you? I’m on my way to get my head put on a pike by my prefect and I’m really not in the mood.”

“...My name is Ben Copper. I’m a first year, like you! I’m a Gryffindor, though.. a-anyways, I wanted to thank you for standing up to Merula Snyde.” 

_ What? _ As far as I recalled, no one else had any idea that I had  _ talked _ to Merula (I feel as though  _ stood up to  _ aren’t the right words for that particular situation).

“I was standing at the end of the corridor,” Ben clarified. “I’ve been following her from afar, so she wouldn’t be able to sneak up on me- she tormented me for being a muggleborn the entire Hogwarts Express ride here.” 

“Wow. I had no idea, Ben. I’m sorry that happened.” 

“Merula..” he trails off in contemplation. There’s sweat beading by his brows. “Merula is obsessed with being the best witch. It’s even scarier because she’s willing to do just about anything to prove it.”

He wipes away his sweat. I wonder if this is his first time talking to a girl face to face. 

“I’m glad someone was brave enough to stand up to her, Rachel. I know that there’s no way I could’ve. It’s a joke that I was put into Gryffindor.” 

“The hat is never wrong, Ben. Besides, everyone’s afraid of something.” I shrug.

“Unfortunately, I am afraid of everything. You know how frightening this entire world-,” he widely gestures to his surroundings, “-is to someone like me, who comes from Muggles?” 

I don’t know, actually. 

“Transitioning to something new is always off-putting at first- oh, that’s rich coming from someone from a wizard family, I know, but it’s true. I can try to help you out a bit, if you really want me to.” 

Ben smiles for the first time since I’ve met him. 

“Thank you, Rachel. I’ll see you around, then.” 

-

The nice atmosphere created by my conversation with Ben immediately dissipates when I step into the common room. It’s empty, save for the boy reading on one of the couches. 

It’s the same boy from yesterday- the one who threatened that Irwin boy.

When he notices me, he closes his book and stands up. He strides over to me and holds out his hand. 

“We haven’t been formally introduced,” he says, firmly shaking my hand.

“I am Felix Rosier, your prefect. You don’t need to introduce yourself, Goode, I already know all about you. For instance; you lost Slytherin  _ ten _ house points in one class. The class our own head teaches.” Felix’s tone is calm and even, but his demeanor is as warm as the Antarctic. 

“Considering your brother’s reputation, I should’ve kept a closer eye on you.” 

“Oh,  _ bloody hell! _ I am  _ not _ my brother! Honestly, if I hear one more thing about him I might rip my hair out! Do you people not know how to separate identities?” I shout. 

I’m so mad I could practically feel steam rushing from my ears. Felix looks dumbfounded. I don’t blame him- that was not one of my finer moments. I’m suddenly glad that we’re alone. 

He clears his throat to break up the silence that ensues. 

“Yes, well there’s nothing we can do now. On another note, Professor Snape has already sent a letter to the common room that’s addressed to you.” He gestures to a crisply enclosed envelope that sits on the coffee table. 

“Why- Felix, why wouldn’t he just send the letter directly to me?” Felix frowns. His calm demeanor seems to crack the more I talk with him. It was likely the screaming that did him in (my neck still burned with shame). 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Snape despises you, Goode. Then again, he does despise everyone.” 

“Must’ve been quite the fun one to have at parties,” I grumble as I open the envelope. 

“What?” I ask as I scan the letter. “ _ Goode, I have discovered evidence that may suggest your potion was tampered with. Bring me a jar of pickled slugs from the supply cabinet and I may just consider restoring your house points. Snape. _ ” Felix’s eyebrows shoot up so high they almost kiss his hairline. 

“That’s.. extremely unlike him.” He says, glancing down at the barely legible scrawl we both recognized as Snape’s.

“Either way, he’s offering to restore house points. You need to get those slugs before he changes his mind. Off with you, now.” Felix practically shoves me out of the common room in his haste. 

-

The carved wooden door I stood in front of was located in a corridor I had never been to. In the back of the note Snape had sent me, I noticed, was a map to lead to the storage room (Of course, the fine print beneath it read  _ ‘If you miraculously get lost, which I wouldn’t put past you’) _ . 

The corridor was empty and quiet, something I had never experienced before at the perpetually bustling castle. 

I sighed. This was  _ extremely _ suspicious.  _ This _ was the kind of situation leading to a kidnapping Miss Fletchley had told me of. 

“House points, house points…” I muttered under my breath like a mantra. I gripped the brass door knocker in my hand before tugging it.

Which didn’t work. 

I struggled trying to pull the door for a while, until I took a break and decided to push instead. Which _ did _ work. I rubbed my sore hands together, hissing.

“You think they’d put up a sign- ‘ _ Hey! This is a push door!’ _ ” I complained aloud. 

I poked my head around the now open door to peek into what seemed like never ending darkness. 

_ This is where I die _ . 

“House points!” I cry before running in. 

The inside of the closet has a mildew smell to it, which is all I gather as it’s too dark to see anything. I take a deep breath, then immediately gag because  _ bloody hell it smells terrible. _

I flick my wand to light it- mainly because I figure something must’ve fallen and released such a stench.

Nope. Instead, a large, writhing mass of vines lay before me. 

This…  _ definitely _ was not a storage closet. 

“What  _ is that? _ ” I whisper, backing against the now-closed door. 

“It’s Devil’s Snare.” A voice tells me on the other side of the door. 

I jump- I recognize that voice. 

“Merula? Is-is that you?” I sound so small and scared (which I am). There’s a cold spout of laughter behind the door. 

“ _ Merula, I-is t-that y-y-you?  _ You sound so stupid. Of course it’s me, Goode.” I reach for the door handle, pulling it with all my strength to no avail. 

“Merula, did you lock this door? Let me out!” I pound on the door. 

“Funny thing about Devil’s Snare,” Merula ignores my pounding, “it’s awfully sensitive to light. But you won’t have to worry about it, since you’re so talented at casting Lumos, right?” 

“... that letter wasn’t from Snape, either, was it?” 

“No, you dolt. Normally I wouldn’t go so far, but  _ something  _ has to stop you from ruining Hogwarts. May as well be Devil’s Snare.” I hear her snicker again before she walks off, footfalls growing softer and softer. 

I slowly turn, back against the door. My wand light is weak in the darkness of the closet. A tendril slithers across the floor, wrapping around my ankle.

Cold sweat drips down my neck. 

Everyone was at dinner right now- and would be for another hour. 

I had never heard of or seen Devil’s Snare before. I could only cast Lumos, which flickered because it’s still so new to me because  _ I am a child. _

_ I am a child. A child.  _

Merula, too, is a child. Yet here she was, quite possibly putting my life in danger, and for what? To keep me from ‘ _ ruining’ _ Hogwarts?

Ben was right. Merula was obsessed. 

I think I hate Merula more than anything else in the world. More than Jacob, more than Mum, more than the incompetent Ministry people who didn’t even bother to look for my brother.

He was a child when he went missing. 

I wonder if he felt this scared when his wand was snapped and suddenly he was alone.

~

I don’t realize I’m screaming until someone pounds on the outside of the door. 

“Get outta’ the way!” A gruff voice bellows. I dive to the right, hand clamped over my mouth and tears running down my face. 

The door rattles a few times before coming clean off of its hinges. In walks a huge man with an impressive beard- thicker and shorter than Dumbledore’s, though. I had seen him at the banquet.

“Gallopin’ goblins, Slytherin! Stop screaming and get away from that Devil’s Snare. Yer scarin’ it!” I make a disgusted expression and wipe away my tears. 

“ _ I’m scaring it?!”  _ The man notices my face and wilts a bit. He hoists me up, tugging me out of the room. 

We don’t talk for a minute, him sheepishly placing the door back into its place, and me hiccuping and stubbornly facing away so he can’t see my face. 

My throat is raw. I don’t know how long I was in there but I know that it was too long. I cough. 

“Are ye… feelin’ better yet?” He carefully asks. I nod, sniffing a final time before turning around. 

“I’m fine.” My voice is hoarse. “But you saved my life. Thank you, mister…” I trail off. 

“Rubeus Hagrid, at yer service. I’m Keeper o’ Keys and Grounds here at Hogwarts. It’s.. it’s a pleasure teh meet yeh.” 

“I see. Well, I’m Rachel Goode.” I stare at my shoes. They’re still shiny and new- unlike the rest of me. My clothes are in tatters and my hair looks like it exploded. 

“So yer the one everyone’s been talkin’ abou’. How did you end up in there, Rachel? I was walking in from the Clocktower Courtyard and I heard yeh screaming yer head off inside that closet. Thought yeh were being ripped apart or somethin’.” 

I weakly laugh. “So I guess I was screaming for a while. This first year girl who’s been terrorizing other kids got mad that I told her to bugger off and locked me in.” 

“She did?! What’re yeh gonna do, Rachel? Yeh can’t let her get away with that.” 

“I know. And as much as I want to be a bigger person.. Hagrid, you’ll come to find I'm not very nice. I want revenge. She deserves it.” 

Hagrid nods. “I won’t tell yeh what I think, but no matter what yeh do, I’d go back teh yer common room and take some time teh think about it. It wouldn’t be good if yeh did somethin’ you’d end up regrettin’.” He pats my shoulder. 

“Yeah, you’re right. Thank you again, Hagrid.” 


End file.
